


A Blank to Be Filled

by longwhitecoats



Category: Venus in Fur - Ives
Genre: Bondage, D/s, F/M, Femdom, Genderplay, Knifeplay, Yuletide Treat, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: What happens immediately after the lights go out.





	A Blank to Be Filled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frostfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/gifts).



“Good.” Her heels click on the floor in time with the cracks of thunder outside. The window to this room is so narrow. He can see pelting rain, a blur of midnight traffic lights, and that’s all. The door is locked; the building is concrete; would anyone hear him if he screamed?

Her fingers dig under the collar and pull hard, forcing his back into a tighter arch. He can’t turn his face away from her. Her eyes are shadowed. “All women want to be worshipped,” she says, and automatically, his brain begins to fill in the rest of the line. Where are they? Back to the beginning?

But it wasn’t a prompt, it turns out – it was context. The next moment, the accent is gone, and she’s the critic again. “Don’t you think that’s laying it on a little thick, Tommy?” She’s bending down, her breasts level with his face, yet all he can think about his those hard fingers at his throat, pinning him, _forcing_ him to pay attention. “Are we really supposed to buy that the narrative fulfillment here is that all women are just fucking submissive? I mean, kudos to you for letting your male lead be wrong about something, I guess, but it seems like a dirty bait and switch to me.” She drops her hand suddenly, striding away in disgust, and even as he gasps for a full breath of air he misses that hand intensely, passionately.

He can feel the muscles in his arms twitching. The stone is cold and unyielding and the nylons bite into his skin. The floor is hard on his knees and his dick is pressed so tight against his fly that it’s painful. He watches her stand before the window, paused in thought or lost in rage; he has no idea who she will be when she turns around.

“Stacy’s probably wondering where you are, don’t you think?” She isn’t smiling. “Imagining you on some deluxe standard issue hotel mattress with a younger version of this.” She waves her hands airily around her body, as if it wasn’t hers at all. “You were probably imagining that, too, weren’t you?”

He swallows. “What?”

She squats down in front of him, cups the back of his head with her hand. “Weren’t you thinking about taking me back to some boring as shit Radisson king suite and having the same nice sex with me that you used to have with Stacy? Just like you used to with all those other actresses, right?”

“I never—”

“Lauren, that was the last one before Stacy. And Brittany. And Kathleen. And Martha, she was a bit old, wasn’t she?”

His jaw drops. He can feel her hand tightening in his hair and hisses through his teeth. How does she know, how could anyone...?

“Because why should you deny yourself any pleasure, right? Fuck, Tommy, I think all you really wanted was to be the woman the whole time.”

His dick jumps when she says it, and he feels a twist in his stomach, whether of fear or desire he doesn’t know.

“What,” he gasps, “this is all some trivialization—you think emasculating me—” but he can’t finish the sentence. Her fingers tighten and tighten, and it _hurts_ , but he’s never felt anything so sweet. He wants to scream for help, now, wants to scream and scream and know that no one will come, that nothing can save him from her.

“You wanted to be the woman,” she repeats, only there’s the accent again, and it’s not her, it’s _her_ , “because you could only imagine a woman being truly submissive. You could only imagine a woman wanting to be trapped, because surely that must be the only reason a woman stays with a man? You could only imagine a woman wanting to be hurt, to be pinned, because you can only imagine women and men as bottom and top, down and up, round and round the carousel and always the same.” He’s closed his eyes; at some point her voice changed again, and now he’s not sure where he is, if he’s in the play or if this is another kind of play. Who is he? The writer? The wife?

“What should I imagine?” he gasps, and he feels her other hand below the band of nylon on his chest, seeking his nipple, _pinching_ — “Ahh—”

Her thumb is rubbing the abused nipple, then pinching again, then rubbing, an electric current of alternating pleasure and pain. “You have very sensitive breasts,” she says softly. “Beautiful, soft breasts.”

A flush of desire like he’s never felt floods his body. He can feel himself turning red. He tries to twist his face away from her. “Oh god.”

“Yes,” she says, and holds his head still. He can feel her gaze on him. “That’s right.”

“Please,” he says, hardly knowing what he’s begging for. “Please, I—”

She shushes him, suddenly amenable again. “You shall have it,” she says. “You shall have it.”

He feels her hands stroke down his flanks, pull at his bonds; she whispers to him of the slenderness of his waist, the fineness of his skin. She tells him how becoming the blush of shame is on his cheeks as she begins to tear away his clothes. He hears the click of her pocketknife opening and still can’t bear to open his eyes, even as he trembles. The point of the knife is as soft as a feather, barely kissing his skin, but it makes short work of his shirt and pants and underwear. The air on his skin makes him shiver.

“Look at yourself,” she says softly, and he opens his eyes.

He is naked from collarbone to knee, strapped to a column and bared utterly. The moving light from the window sends shadows and abstractions rippling across his skin. Just below his hip, there’s a faint red mark where the knife brushed too closely.

She’s standing up, knife in hand, like an avenging fury. He wants her to tear him apart.

“You see,” she says. “How it feels to be bared.”

He nods, unable to summon his voice.

She walks toward him and bends down, her lips at his ear.

“That’s all you really wanted. To be seen. Forced to reveal yourself.”

He nods again.

“Close your eyes.”

He does, and he hears the knife drop to the floor, feels her fingers trace a path up to his collar and seize him there. Her other hand scratches at him, caresses him, until finally it sinks down, and he thinks at last she’ll touch him. But then she doesn’t; he feels heat, suddenly, and the chafing of lace, and he realizes she is on the floor with him, pressed against him, and the motion of her hand where their bodies would otherwise join is---

“Oh god,” he says, feeling her pleasuring herself. “Oh god. Yes. Please.”

“The gods can change their form,” she says, as if in continuation of a conversation. “Zeus descended to Danaë as a ray of light, to Europa as a bull. And they can change the form of mortals. Arachne challenged Athena to a weaving contest and was changed into a spider as punishment for her hubris.” Her breath is picking up, and he can _smell_ her, god. She’s pressed tight against him but not quite enough, not enough, please, please— “The outward shape and the inner purpose of a god have as much to do with one another as night and day. But when a god has changed you— _shaped_ you—” He can no longer tell which voice of hers it is; it’s low, right in his ear, breathy with her arousal. He can feel the muscles in her thighs tightening, pressed against his own legs. “I think I should leave you like this,” she says. “I think I should leave you here, helpless, wanting, helpless, begging— _oh_ —”

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, feeling her shake. “Oh, yes, _yes_ , _please_ —”

“Say it,” she manages, and he does.

Hail, Aphrodite.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this treat! I loved your discussion of the play and the prompts you gave. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Added post-reveals: Thanks to my beta, somethingcompletelydifferent. <3


End file.
